


submit yourselves therefore

by kyrilu



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Loyalty, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/kyrilu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is said that Powers do not fall. Lucifer fell; his followers fell; but Powers do not fall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	submit yourselves therefore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [days4daisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/gifts).



1.

It is said that Powers do not fall. Lucifer fell; his followers fell; but Powers do not fall.

Furiad first heard Gabriel’s music on the edges of the Silver City. The archangel played his horn, sitting on the fringes of heaven with the backdrop of glowing towers and walls behind him. It’s a winding, triumphant song. A song like declarative clarion bells, a song like Eden at her opening, a song like a battle hymn.

It is also a song for the angels guarding the Silver City who circled the boundaries, and as they pass Gabriel, they almost seemed to feed off his melody.

Gabriel stops playing when he sees Furiad, clad in his red armor and watching him solemnly. “Ah,” he says. “I’ve seen you before, among the troops. You fought handsomely in the war. Furiad, isn’t it?”

Furiad nods. He is a warrior by their father’s design, and he had charged into battle to fight his rebellious brothers and sisters. Noma had fought beside him, murmuring light-hearted banter in his ear as they slashed at the rebels, back to back.

“I enjoyed your song,” Furiad says, offering a simple compliment, in exchange.

“It’s a commemoration, for the recent events of this place,” Gabriel says. “For the fallen.” He does not clarify whether he means the traitors who went to the dark realm below, or their comrades who were slain in battle; instead, Gabriel continues, “I thought it would cheer my brother, anyway. Sometimes, Michael likes a merry little tune.”

Gabriel punctuates the phrase _merry little tune_ with a mimed flutter of his fingers on his horn. Furiad watches his fingers – nimble and clever and fast – and when he looks up, Gabriel’s eyes are amused, as if the archangel is laughing at him.

Furiad thinks that he has never felt like this before. He has felt something like this, surely, with Noma and his other lovers in the City, but he realizes that he would give Gabriel his sword if the archangel asked it of him. It would be the simplest, easiest thing to do, brought upon by a piping horn song and those laughing eyes.

Loyalty like this is an inbred instinct among angels. There will be always be someone or something that you will pledge yourself to. There are many, like Raphael, who promise themselves solely to God, of course – all the angels are promised to God, in a way – but then here are ties like this that are hard to break. Later, Felicia is drawn to Gabriel, as is Roan. Later, Noma sees something in Michael, and Michael himself swears to protect the Savior. The dogs of heaven are more capricious in their loyalties, but they do give their word when the time comes.

“Furiad,” Gabriel says, gently, and he seems to have realized what has happened before Furiad has, “come here. Sit at my feet. Listen to my song.”

Furiad does.

And this is the first time that a Power falls.

2.

He and Noma have been at a distance for centuries. He cannot remember how her touch feels like. But he sees her on the precipice of the Silver City, ready to fly and he closes his eyes and says, “You’re leaving.”

Noma says, “Yes. Yes I am.”

There’s a war raging below. Michael and Gabriel and the armies under them, the dogs of heavens and the humans. None of the other higher angels have dared to take a side, with their father gone.

Furiad has not followed Gabriel. Not yet.

“You would be the first,” Furiad says. “Why?”

“Why not?” she says back, almost jaunty, and it’s as if they’re back on the battlefield again. Noma with her blade on a rogue angel’s throat, ready to cut, while Furiad cautions her before striking. She would say: _Why not, Furiad?_

Then Noma shakes her head, as if she’s shaking away dust from her hair, and says, “It’s Michael, Furiad. I can’t stay. I always meant to give him my sword. You could come with me, you know, if you want to see the Savior.”

It is a meaningless request. Noma knows as well as he does who he would go to, if he went to earth.

“I think I will see the child someday,” Furiad says quietly, with his head tipped back toward the silver-golden sky. “And I will see you, too.”

Noma turns away from him, hiding her face from Furiad’s view. Her wings unfurl, dark black spilling from her back. “Yeah,” she says, a careless syllable in one of the humans’ languages, slipping out of their usual Enochian. She says,  “Good luck with Gabriel when you go, okay?”

“Go in peace,” Furiad says, the phrase of dismissal automatic on his tongue.  

And this is Furiad’s last impression of Noma until he finally sees her again twenty-five years later: her laughter at the irony - _go in peace_ \- fading out as she falls.

3.

When Furiad goes to Gabriel, it is because of impatience. He had thought, perhaps, that the conflict would end, but the years drag on and on and the Savior is nowhere in sight. There’s no sign of their father’s last gift to the world - no golden rays shining through the City, no triumphant opening of the gates to let their earthbound brothers and sisters back home, no renewal of peace and hope.

Waiting is tedious. He spars with his brothers, a whirlwind of red on red, but it’s not anything like the real thing.

So Furiad flies to that citadel in the mountains, and he bows before Gabriel.

Furiad says, in a low voice, “You have set yourself up as a god. You have your tower, your worshippers, your army, your throne.”

It’s partly chastising. Even though he knows that he owes Gabriel his sword, there is a part of him that is still God’s Power, his Authority. He knows where the line of blasphemy is, and Gabriel has crossed it.

“Oh, Furiad,” Gabriel says. He leans back on his throne with a pleased expression on his face. “That’s arguable. I’m only making it even. Michael’s got the first three, after all. Or maybe three out of four, if we’re counting what else must be on go between his legs, because he may keep up his front of self-repression and restraint, but I know my brother very well and he can’t help himself at all.”

“I am not here to learn about your brother’s proclivities.”

“I know. You’re here for me.”

“I am here for the war,” Furiad says. “And I am here for you.” His eyes meet Gabriel’s momentarily, and then they return to the ground before the throne.

Gabriel makes a sound at the back of his throat, deep and rumbling, an alto note at the beginning of a song. He reaches outward, downward, and his hand catches the glistening dark red of Furiad’s collar, resting at a place where there’s a gap in his armor.

“Take this off,” he says.

Slowly, Furiad’s fingers fold around the side of his own throat, overlapping with Gabriel’s. Gabriel’s hand presses on his, a squeezing caress, then lifts away. Furiad makes quick work of the strip of metal, tearing it into two glinting fragments of red.

The halo of scarlet shimmers. The light highlights Gabriel’s eyes, his teeth, turning him into an animal dripping with illuminated blood.

Furiad knows: Gabriel may want his father back, but he demands this transference of loyalty. He wants Furiad to tear the remnants of the Silver City from his skin.

Gabriel smiles. Gabriel puts his hand on the bare skin of Furiad’s neck. Gabriel lets out a breath and calls him _beautiful._


End file.
